If you love something, hold onto it (and never let go)
by OakeX
Summary: Who said that if you loved something, let it go? That's just silly. If you let it go, then it'll just flee. It'll run away, and leave you with a big person-sized hole in your heart. No, far better to just hold onto it. Cling to it, and never let it break free. Oneshot.


**Ah... This was hell to write. Absolute hell, complete with the fires of eternal damnation and everything.**

 **I started this story about 3-4 months ago. Wrote about 2 pages. Then I left it to fester in my Google Drive while I went off and did other things (like not write this story), and then I finally came back to this and finished it up.**

 **God, this was tiring.**

 **...I must sound really whiny.**

 **Anyway, disclaimer: I do not own Sisters Grimm.**

 **I do, however, have an intense love of mayonnaise and cheese *cough _COUGH_ ***

* * *

He wonders what it'd be like to kiss her.

He wonders what it'd be like if he could just... if he could just... Whenever she enters the room, if he could just ignore whatever it is that freezes him. If he could just ignore the strange tremor his heartbeat develops, the rush of blood to his cheeks and neck, the queer paralysis that swamps his limbs, if he could just ignore all that and just... _do_. Just do, dammit, just do! Just act, just _move!_ , forget _no-no_ and go _yes-yes_! Just think _yes!_ as he walks towards her, _yes-yes!_ as he spins her to face him, if he could just press his lips to hers and go _yes-yes-yes_!

She tastes decidedly sweet, he concludes. Sweet in that chemical-ly, sort of lip-glossy-way, two parts apple and one part repulsive. His right cheek bursts into flame as she slaps him and then storms away, but he can't help a goofy grin spreading across his face. _She tastes like apples_ , he thinks. _I hate apples, and she tastes like weird antiseptic apples, but she tastes like apples_.

And then. _I want to kiss her again_.

...

Walking home that night, it's mesmerising to watch her. To watch her stroll beside him, fingers brushing together —she never was one for hand-holding— the moonlight spilling off her form like water, like metal, like liquid silver.

His words tumble out. "You're gorgeous."

She arches an eyebrow. Her eyes (silvery-blue) pierce him. "I'm sorry, what?"

"I said..." He coughs nervously. "I said... you're gorgeous."

Her other eyebrow meets the first. "Oh."

God, does she have to keep staring at him like this? He can feel his cheeks burning.

She clears her throat. "Right. Well, uh, thanks. I guess."

She keeps walking, but there's a brief moment where he swears she hooks her fingers with his.

...

 _It's her first time_ , he thinks. _Her first time, I might be her first,_ he grins, as she trembles under his touch, under the light scrape of his nails and the brush of his fingertips. She kisses him in the semi-darkness, starlight glinting off her eyes, and for a second he loses himself in her, in the feeling of her hot skin on his, in the feeling of his entire body unravelling beneath her.

Then he pulls away and touches her _there_ , and she rewards him with a foreign, gasping moan. _Hell_ , he thinks, as her lips find his again, _hell, I think I'm in love_. He presses into her —melds with her— and her eyes roll back, fingers gripping hard onto his shoulders. He goes in deeper and she whimpers, whines almost, and then utters another breathy moan; these strange delicious sounds of ecstasy.

 _I love you_ , he murmurs into her shoulder, with the sharp taste of salt on his tongue _, you sexy gorgeous girl, I love you_.

...

 _He soars above on the wings of angels, flying towards heavenly clouds._

 _But what goes up must come down._

 _And here it comes, that black hellish stone (Oh God, it's so close) flying towards him like a bullet, the stone that'll break his wings and make him fall._

...

Even now, when her face is tear-streaked and red, does he still think, _you're beautiful_.

Even now, when she keeps swimming in and out of wet blurry focus and he can barely see her, does he still think, _you're gorgeous_.

Even now, when out of her mouth pours bombs and shrapnel-filled words, does he still think, _I love you_.

"I think..." she says, and trails off. "I need some space, Puck."

 _What?_ "What do you mean?"

"I mean... This. _Us_. We're going too fast, Puck. I don't think I'm ready for such a... committed relationship."

 _...What?_ "What?! What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"I'm sorry, Puck."

"You're— You're breaking up with me."

Her eyes plead with him, _please don't make this worse._ "Yes..."

"Because I love you?"

"No..."

"Then what?"

"It's 'cause..."

"Cause?!"

"It's 'cause you're not..."

"Not?! Not what? Spit it out!"

"For God's sakes, Puck, let me finish!"

"Go then!"

"It's 'cause you're not the same!"

"What?"

"You've changed, Puck!"

"People do that!"

"Not like you!"

"What do you mean, 'not like me'?!"

"People don't become as... Ok, people do but... You're becoming too attached, Puck!"

"Attached?!"

"You're smothering me! You're restraining me, you know? I know you love me, and I like you an awful lot too, but this is just... You're going too fast! You're becoming too... dependent on me, you're relying on me too much! It's not..."

"Not what?!"

"It's not healthy!"

"Not— I— How can me loving you not be healthy?!"

"No, you don't— gah! It's not— Ok, ok." She takes a deep forced breath. "Look, Puck," she says, when she's calmed down, "I'm just asking for a bit of a break. Some time to think. I'm not... I'm not breaking up with you."

"Not yet, you mean," he says bitterly.

"Don't say that."

"It's what you're thinking, isn't it?"

"I... Just a few days, Puck. A few days."

"A week."

"Fine."

"Then you can tell me whether you love me or not."

"Puck..."

"No. I'm going outside."

...

 _I've lost her_ , he thinks. _I've scared her off_. And to his credit, he knows she's right. He knows he's been acting... different around her, _clingier_ , as she put it.

But it's not his fault. He... He loves her.

...

He loves her! He wants to be with her! That's what you do love someone, right? You stay by them, right? You keep them with you, and hug them and touch them and kiss them and you tell them everyday that they're yours and you're theirs, right?

When you love something, you hold onto it and never let go...

right?

...

 _Red droplets hang in the air as if on hooks, along with white feathery crescents and his cries of pain._

 _And then the wind snatches them away, and he's left with nothing._

...

"Please, Sabrina..."

"I'm sorry..."

"Please, I'm begging you..."

"Puck, this isn't healthy."

 _I know it's not_. "It is, it is!"

"Puck, it's not and you know it."

"I love you!"

"I... I'm sorry, Puck."

 _Ouch_. "I love you!"

"Puck, please!"

"I'll... I'll change back! Promise! I'll go back to pulling pranks on you, and not kissing you, and calling you stinkpot in the mornings again!" _I'm pathetic_. "I'll... I'll do all that again, Sabrina!"

"Puck, no."

 _Like a goddamn teenage movie._ "I will!"

"It won't change anything."

"It will!" _What am I doing with myself?_ "It has to, it must!"

"Puck..."

"Please!" _Ugh_.

"Puck, I'm going to a movie now. You _can't_ come with me, understand?"

"Sabrina, please..."

She opens the front door. "See you in a few hours, Puck."

 _Don't say it_. "I love you..." _Damn._

She closes the door behind her.

 _God, I hate myself_.

...

 _The wind whistles in his ears as he falls, mocking him with their cackling screeches._

 _How weak you are, they taunt, how disgusting you are._

 _Far below him (but moving ever closer), something rockets upwards._

...

"So what do you guys think of Bradley?"

"A charming young man."

"He's nice, I guess."

"A damn sight better than that stupid fairy."

"Henry!"

"Well it's true."

"He seems nice, Sabrina."

"A dependable fellow, I think."

"I like Puck better!"

Silence...

"Huh?" Sabrina looks down at Basil, her little eight year old brother who's stamping his feet angrily. "You do?"

"Bradley's boring!"

"Basil, you can't say that."

"He is!"

"Well not everyone has to be interesting."

"He's boring!"

"Ok, Basil."

"I like Puck better!"

"Who likes me better?" The fairy saunters in from the kitchen. "Forgot my key, and the back door was unlocked," he says, by way of explanation.

"Me!"

He ruffles the kid's hair affectionately. "You always were my favourite out of the bunch."

Sabrina gulps. "What are you doing back so soon, Puck?"

A shrug. "The party got boring." He looks around. "Why are you all in the living room anyway?"

"Oh well—"

"Thanks for letting me use the bathroom, Mrs Grimm." Bradley walks back in, drying his hands on a paper towel.

"Not a problem."

"Who are you?"

Bradley stops. He turns to Puck, who's looking at him in a strange (almost fearful?) way. "Oh, I didn't see you there. Sorry, I'm—"

Puck cuts him off. "Why are you here?"

"Uh... Meeting Sabrina's family, I guess. I don't think we've met befo—"

"Who are you?"

"I'm Bradley."

"No, I mean, who _are_ you?"

"Uh... Bradley Smith?"

"That's not answering my question."

"I think it does." The smile on his face dims a little with his confusion, and his eyes flicker to Sabrina's. _Is this guy alright?_

She frowns.

The fairy's next words drip with hostility. "Who. _Are_. You. Bradley."

"I'm—"

"He's my boyfriend, Puck," Sabrina says wearily. "We're dating."

...

That shuts him up.

...

"Oh," he gulps. He takes a deep (shuddering) breath. "I see."

"Yeah..." Bradley says awkwardly.

"...I— I see."

"Mmm," she says.

The muscles in his forearms lock. "I'm going to... I'm going to go upstairs then."

"Goodnight."

"Thanks, Sabrina."

He walks up the stairs, and she can see cold fury radiating off of him. It's obvious, to her at least, to her eyes which have raked over his body more times than she can count (now out of fear, before for another reason entirely).

The very set of his jaw is deadly.

The angle at which he tilts his head spits fire.

The ramrod straightness of his back boils over with tension.

The restraint he shows is incredible, and she knows that as soon as he enters his room all hell is going to break loose.

 _I need to talk to him_ , she thinks.

"Maybe it's time for you to go, Bradley," she says.

"Yeah, I think so too. Who was that guy?"

"Puck."

"Puck?"

"An ex."

"Oh."

"Yeah..."

She opens the front door. He gives her a quick peck on the cheek. "Well, I'll see you tomorrow, then."

"See you tomorrow."

"Will you be alright?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine."

"Will he be alright?"

"I'll talk to him."

"You sure?"

"He'll be fine."

He still looks hesitant.

She nods. _Don't worry about it_.

"Well, alright. See you then."

"See you."

She closes the door. There's a great _crash!_ from upstairs, and an animalistic roar. She sighs.

She trudges up the stairs to apologise to him again, and remind him that she doesn't love him anymore.

...

 _A fireball smashes into him._

 _His crippled wings disintegrate, and he crashes to the ground._

...

 _Look at them. Ugh, God, look at them. Kissing and hugging and holding hands._

In front of him, unaware of the fairy's presence, Sabrina and Bradley sit on the couch watching a movie. His hands are propped up behind his head and she's curled up on the other end of the sofa, eating an apple.

 _Disgusting_.

"This movie's not half-bad," Bradley comments.

"See? I knew you were one for cheesy rom-coms."

"You must hate it, though."

"Eh. It's fair."

 _She never spoke to me like that_ , he thinks bitterly, _she never told me those things._

If looks could kill, there would be two holes burned into the back of Bradley's head now.

 _If only._

He laughs at a joke she makes, and Puck turns away.

 _I need some water_.

Storming into the kitchen, he pulls a glass from the cupboard and fills it with water. He drains it down in one chug.

 _I mean, this is someone's house, for God's sake. People sleep here. Acting like that, in here of all places! That's just... ugh_.

He drains another glass.

 _I hate them_. His fingers begin shaking as he wonders what other _things_ they're doing in there. _I hate them. I hate them! Him, that guy, Bradley, Bradley!, he—! I hate him._

His entire body trembles.

 _That scumbag. He doesn't... He doesn't love her like I do. He doesn't love her as much as I do._

Her laugh tinkles in from the other room, and his eyes water.

 _I love her, I love her the most! Why can't I have her?!_

"I'm just going to get something to drink, Bradley."

 _Why can't I? Why can't I just have her?! I love her, way more than he does, she should be mine! She is mine!_

"Puck?

He turns at the sound of her voice, scrubbing his eyes furiously.

"What." he croaks.

"Puck..." she sighs.

"No. Don't say it."

He walks out of the kitchen.

 _I want her back. I just... I just want her back_.

...

Understanding doesn't heal, contrary to popular belief. It clarifies, sure, and brings with it a brief moment of satisfaction, but it most certainly does not heal.

He would know. Because he _gets_ it now.

 _I'm terrifying,_ he realises, _I'm just straight-up horrible. I'm violent, and possessive, and greedy. I'm just a child in a grown-up body._

 _And even though I love her —ouch— I know this part of me won't... change. I don't love her enough to unravel 4000 years of life._

 _This is me, and I hate it, and I can't blame her for hating it too. I can't blame her for— for running away._

 _But still..._

 _Still.._

He had... thought that 'love redeems all.'

Or at least, he had hoped it did.

...

He does not... he does not cry, if that helps.

He hears her make a joke, and him laugh.

 _I will not cry_.

He hears the sounds of them kissing.

 _I-I will not cry_.

He hears her whisper 'let's go somewhere a bit more private' and him whisper 'Let's'.

 _I will not... I will not cry_.

He will not cry. He will not let himself be hurt by that again. He will not let himself... He will not... He will... No he won't!

"I do," he hears him say. "I do," he hears her say back.

 _I will not... I will not..._

 _I will... Oh hell_.

...

He loves her, he does. He loves her so much it hurts. He loves her so much he can't express it in words. That much, at least, is true.

But all is not the gold that glitters.

And all is not the love that heals.

All is not the love that redeems.

All is but the love that breaks, all is but the love that tears, all is but the love that...

...hurts.

...

All is but the love that poisons, and makes wrong what was once not so wrong.

So he loves her, yes, and he loves her _so much_ , but it's killing him.

And he's dying, slowly, on the inside.

"I love you, Bradley."

"I love you, Sabrina."

And then, not so slowly.

 _I wonder where Granny keeps the rope._

* * *

 **It's long, I know, sorry about that. But I hoped you enjoyed it anyway. Thanks for reading.**


End file.
